


The Accidental Fathers (or And Bob's Your Uncle)

by suitesamba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-15
Updated: 2011-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:18:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry’s son comes to him with a big problem, Harry steps in to help out. And so does Severus. But Severus’ help comes with a price, which causes another problem. A circular story where Harry ultimately gets exactly what he’s always wanted.  Wirten for the 2011 Snape_Potter Cliche Fest on IJ/LJ/DW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Accidental Fathers (or And Bob's Your Uncle)

“You’re joking.”

James shook his head. He didn’t look at all amused.

Harry caught his own head in his hands to prevent himself from banging his forehead on the table.

“When?”

“About the middle of August. Dad, I…” he trailed off, watching his father’s face contort.

Harry squeezed his eyes tightly shut then opened them again. Nope. Still here. James still across the table from him, looking vaguely ill.

“Who’s…?” Harry swallowed, tried again. “Who is the other father? I thought you were dating that Hanover girl—Alexandria?”

“I was,” said James. He sounded as down as Harry felt. “She broke up with me a couple months ago when she found out about… .”

Harry lifted his head.

“Just tell me, James. Let’s just get it all out on the table.”

“Bob Snape.”

Harry dropped his head back onto the table. Snape! What was it about Snapes and Potters anyway? He pushed that thought to the back of his mind and stored it with all his assorted Severus Snape memorabilia. He still couldn’t believe that Severus Snape had named his son Bob. Now he was being asked to believe that this Bob was James’…? What?

“And you two … this thing…” Harry waved his hand in the air beside his head. “Was it a fling? Does he even know?”

“Of course he knows.” James looked at his father in disbelief. “He’s telling his Dad right now, too. We’re really hoping you two will work together on this.”

“Work together on this?” Harry straightened up and looked across the table at his son. James was eighteen, in his last year at Hogwarts, and had already been accepted into a grueling two-year cross-training program in defensive magic, curse-breaking and spell crafting—one that was to start on September 1st, in fact.

James smiled wanly. “We were hoping you would take the baby.”

“Hoping I would take…” Harry’s voice trailed off. Suddenly he narrowed his eyes. “Have you been talking to your mother?”

“Dad! Please!” protested James, shuddering. “Do NOT tell Mum. I’ll tell her myself when I have to—maybe even before the news hits The Prophet.”

“James, I’m sorry.” Harry stood, walked around the table and pulled out the chair next to his son. He sat down and once again found the heavy weight of his head falling onto his hands. “This is just…” he struggled to find the right word and settled for “unexpected.” He tried to process everything that James had told him so far. James was pregnant. James was pregnant with Bob Snape’s child. James and Bob wanted Harry to take the baby. And then what? Raise it until James was settled? Until when?

“Unexpected about covers it all,” muttered James. He still sounded miserable. Harry’s mind took a 90 degree turn.

“Have you seen a healer yet?”

James shook his head. “No, I thought you could set me up with yours since you’ve been through this already.”

Harry sighed. Why did carrying one baby make him an expert on male pregnancy? “Alright, I’ll get something set up but you’ll need to see him soon—probably before half term break. Now back up and tell me your plan.”

“Bob and I have talked about this for hours,” began James. “So don’t think we’re desperate or anything. We think it’s the right thing to do—the right thing for us and for you and for the baby.”

“Didn’t you learn contraceptive charms?” blurted out Harry.

James reached out and put his arm around his father’s shoulders. James had probably expected some histrionics from him and frankly, Harry thought, things had to be going better than he had anticipated.

“Male contraceptive charms, yes,” he answered. “To kill the little swimmers. At the time I thought I was straight. I didn’t even listen to the other part. All I remember was something about how only five percent of wizard-wizard couples manage to conceive during their reproductive years—something about compatible magic.”

“You have the Potter luck,” groaned Harry. James looked at him curiously but fortunately didn’t delve any deeper into Harry’s statement.

“The plan, Dad?” he said instead, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“Right. Go on. I’m listening.”

“Alright.” James took a deep breath. “No more interruptions, right?”

“Right,” answered Harry. He took several deep breaths, in through his nose, out through his mouth.

“Well, Bob has been accepted into the same program as I have. We know we did a stupid thing, having unprotected sex, but we’re trying to do the responsible thing now. Neither one of us is old enough or mature enough to raise a child—Bob’s barely eighteen, in fact—”

“Then you shouldn’t have been—”

“Dad! You promised! No more interruptions!”

Harry sighed and pressed the heels of his palms onto his temples. “Go on, then. Bob’s what? Sixteen?”

“Eighteen,” answered James. “He just looks really young. He’s really smart—he technically finished Hogwarts last year but stayed on for some pre-Mastery classes.”

“And to get you pregnant,” muttered Harry.

“Dad!”

Harry changed the subject. “You realize, don’t you, that Bob is a Snape?”

“Umm…yes,” answered James, looking curiously at his father. “I did just tell you his name, didn’t I?”

Harry covered his ears and pretended not to hear the question.

“Anyway,” continued James, shaking his head at his father, “we’re not old enough to be parents. No! Don’t say it. I know. We shouldn’t have been having sex then. But we did. And we are…going to be parents, that is. But Dad, you’re great with kids. You love them. You always wanted another after Lily. I know you were upset that it never worked out again—”

“It never worked out because your mother refused to provide any more eggs,” groused Harry. He usually tried not to disparage Ginny in front of the children but this subject was always a sore one.

“Oh.” James’ face registered confusion for a moment. He was trying to work out the mechanics but gave up. He didn’t remember his father being pregnant with Lily but nearly the entire world—and certainly all of wizarding UK—knew that Harry Potter had carried his last child so that his wife could get on with her Quidditch career.

“Dad, this will be, this is your grandchild. I don’t want to give him up for adoption. Neither does Bob.”

“Do me a favor,” said Harry suddenly. “Call him Robert. I still can’t get my head around Snape having a son named Bob.”

“He’s named after his maternal grandfather,” said James tersely. He shook his head again. He was doing a lot of that. “Alright, neither Robert nor I want to give the baby up for adoption. But if you take him, and raise him as your own, we can still see him from time to time. We’ll be like favorite uncles.”

“And Bob’s your uncle,” muttered Harry.

“Robert,” said James sternly.

Harry smiled. He shook his head slowly. He was trying—he really was—to get his head around the concept of James, his James, having a baby and he, Harry Potter, taking on the responsibility of raising another child at the age of forty-two—forty-three by the time the child arrived. He’d been living alone since Lily left for Hogwarts, with the children home only over summers and breaks. Ginny had been gone permanently since Lily was ten, living with the rest of the Harpies in their all-female commune. He’d given all the baby furniture and supplies away when Teddy settled down with Victoire. Still, this was his grandchild. And what were the options, really? Force James and Bob…Robert…to give up their careers and be responsible adults when they were really just children themselves?

“I’ll think about it,” said Harry at last. The smile on James’ face, the relief that obviously washed over him, was nearly palpable to Harry and eased his mind and heart. “Listen, James, this is not a small thing that you’re asking. This is life-altering and a hell of a commitment. Last time I did this, I was fifteen years younger and I had your mother here to help out. And I have my job to consider, too. I’ll need to find a nanny to help during the day when I’m at work. I’ll have to get all the furniture and supplies…”

“We’ll help with all that,” said James.

Harry smiled. “I can’t believe you’re having a baby. What were the chances?”

“One in twenty,” reminded James. “And Dad, last time you did this, Mum didn’t really do much to help out, did she?”

Harry shook his head. If he were being honest with himself, he’d have to admit that James was right. Ginny hadn’t been around much while the children were small. They’d relied on Molly and Kreacher quite a bit.

“I’m just saying that you did it alone with three of us, Dad. And you did a great job with us. You were the best, Dad. You still are.”

“Except for my obvious failure to teach basic contra—“

“Dad!”

“Well, I’m going to sit down with your brother and sister, no matter how much it embarrasses them. Wait. Have you told Al and Li—?”

A shimmering form sailed through the kitchen wall at that precise moment, condensing into the semi-corporeal shape of a doe Patronus.

“Oh shit,” said Harry, watching the doe walk lightly around the kitchen, sniffing at the dustbin in passing. “I’m not ready for this yet.”

“For what?” asked James, eying the silver doe with confusion. “Whose Patronus is that?”

“Snape’s,” answered Harry just as the doe jumped up to stand brazenly on the kitchen table in front of them and began to speak with Severus Snape’s all-too-calm and precise voice.

“Harry Potter—we will discuss this. Prepare tea for two additional visitors.” Its message delivered, the doe-shape mist dissipated.

“Oh fu—!“ exclaimed James, clipping off the end of the word as his father frowned. “I think I’m going to be sick.” He held his stomach and rushed out of the room, knocking a chair over in his mad rush to the loo.

Harry righted the chair and checked the clock hanging over the stove. Twelve forty-five. The Hogwarts students had only two more hours in Hogsmeade before they had to be back on the castle grounds. He put the tea kettle on and dug around in the cabinets for those nice chocolate biscuits the boys always liked. As Snape lived in London—or had the last time Harry had any dealing with him, and that had been fifteen years ago—Harry assumed that Bo…Robert…had Flooed home to have a discussion with his father. In any event, they’d be here any minute. Harry doubted that Snape would give him much time at all to prepare.

Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang

“Oh sweet Merlin! They’re here!” James had been walking back into the kitchen and had frozen, staring at the front door through the short hallway. Harry pushed a chair toward him and he sank down onto it, then scooted himself over so that the table was between himself and the door.

Harry wiped his sweaty hands on the seat of his jeans and looked over at James. “It will be fine,” he said, giving his son a small smile. “I can handle Snape—you concentrate on Robert.”

The banging started again and Harry walked toward the front door, practicing the deep breathing exercises he’d learned after his last on-the-job accident. With his lung capacity slightly reduced, he tended to hyperventilate in situations which made him overwrought or over-excited. Like now.

He opened the door just as Severus Snape lifted his hand to rap on it again. He almost rapped on Harry’s head. The two stood staring at each other a long moment while, beside Snape, his son greeted Harry with a pleasant and polite “Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. Where’s James?” If he were at all afraid of having a conversation with his father and his boyfriend’s father on the…situation…they were in, he didn’t show it. At all.

There could be no mistaking that Robert Snape was Severus Snape’s son. He was built exactly like his father, though it looked like he’d eventually have a few inches on him. He had the same eyes and the same hair, though he kept his hair shorter and cleaner. His nose hadn’t taken on the awe-inspiring proportions of his father’s yet, and his mouth was a bit softer, his face a bit less angular.

“He’s in the kitchen, Robert,” said Harry, stressing the word “Robert” and nodding toward the door behind him. The boy—he had not yet filled out enough to be taken for a man—sidled past Harry and disappeared, closing the kitchen door behind him.

“Robert?” asked Snape, raising one eyebrow and stepping into the foyer.

“Bob?” countered Harry.

Snape shrugged. “His mother did agree to carry him for nine months. All I had to do was have intercourse with her five times and give her naming rights.”

“Five times?” asked Harry. He knew that Snape and Agatha Stagwater had entered into a relationship with the sole purpose of producing a child to share. It was unconventional at best, downright creepy at worst.

“A few practice runs,” said Snape, casually. He looked at Harry then, eyes traveling down to Harry’s midsection. He smirked. “So I could learn where all the parts were.” He began walking around the living room, picking up items from the shelves and tables and examining them. Harry watched him, forcing himself not to react to the casual way that Snape made himself at home. Severus had held up well over the years. He was as lean as ever, his hair peppered with silver, his clothes pressed and spotless. A green waistcoat peeped out from the open black robes. His face was almost entirely devoid of wrinkles—Harry knew he had more crow’s feet around his eyes than Snape did. Probably because I smile a lot more, he thought. Snape certainly wasn’t lacking in confidence. He finally paused before a large photograph of Harry’s children, taken the summer before Lily started at Hogwarts, framed and hanging on the wall.

“She looks remarkably like her grandmother,” commented Snape, staring at the picture just long enough to make Harry uncomfortable.

Harry countered, “Everyone assumes she looks like Ginny.”

Snape scoffed. “How very fortunate she inherited the Evans red hair then.”

“Snape, you promised….”

“I did, didn’t I?” he said, continuing to stare at the photograph another long moment. Finally, he turned away from it and faced Harry. “Well then, Mr. Potter, are you actually considering this little scheme our miscreant sons have hatched?”

Harry took a moment to study Severus. Though the man had lived in London and had been floating around in wizarding Britain since the demise of Voldemort, Harry didn’t brush shoulders with him frequently. They certainly moved in different circles. Harry had only recently taken a desk job within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after retiring as head of the Auror’s Corps after yet another field injury. Severus, on the other hand, ran a private medicinal potions practice out of Diagon Alley and had a team of specialist employees at his beck and call. In the early years they had tripped over each other in public more frequently. But Harry had seen Snape only a handful of times these past fifteen years since he had consulted with him on a potions protocol before Lily was conceived. He wasn’t exactly avoiding him; he just found it more comfortable to put that part of his life behind him.

“Well, yes, actually. I am,” answered Harry at last. “I don’t see that there’s any other way, really.”

“You don’t see that there’s any other way?” repeated Severus, incredulous. “You don’t see, perhaps, that James and Bob might take responsibility for their actions, go secure Ministry employment that doesn’t require two years of intensive training and raise the child themselves?” Incredulous as he was, he was being remarkably calm for a man who had just learned that his son had impregnated James Potter.

“You can’t just walk in and demand a Ministry job!” protested Harry.

“You can if you’re James Potter and Bob Snape!” retorted Snape.

“But they have their hearts set on the program,” said Harry, almost pleadingly. “James has been vying for a position there since he was fifteen. If he doesn’t complete the training now he’ll never do it. He’ll be too old—they’ll be too many other younger, more qualified candidates.”

“Then he shouldn’t have gotten himself up the duff,” said Severus flatly.

“Wait a minute! He didn’t get himself in this condition. He had quite a bit of help. Help from your son who obviously didn’t know the proper contraceptive charms to prevent male pregnancy!”

“He’s only eighteen! I don’t believe he knew he was homosexual until your son seduced him.”

Harry stared at Snape with his mouth open. Then he shook his head as if to clear it and began to laugh.

“What?” asked Snape, looking at Harry as if he were an escapee from the St. Mungo’s Psychiatric Ward.

“That’s what James said…about himself,” he said, wiping his eye. He became serious once again. “And stop acting like my son is the siren here. It takes two to tango, as you well know, and neither one of them is blaming the other, are they?”

“You’re taking this remarkably well, Potter,” commented Snape. “One could almost suggest that you’re…pleased.” He said the last word more cautiously than accusingly. Harry opened his mouth in an automatic protest but, trying to be honest with himself, closed it again.

“You know I wanted more children,” he said.

“Well, you could have had more if you hadn’t been so clumsy,” answered Snape primly.

“Don’t go there, Snape,” said Harry, his voice dark. “It you hadn’t been such an utter git, mocking me when I came to you for help… .” Harry trailed off.

“If I were carrying around my future offspring in a glass vial, I would have placed an unbreakable charm on it!”

“Not offspring! They were eggs! Only eggs! And if you hadn’t grabbed my arm NONE of it would have happened!”

The two men stared each other down for a full minute before Snape, surprisingly, gave in first.

“We agreed it was an accident,” he said at last. “And if you recall, I helped you out of that little predicament, did I not?” He stared suggestively at Harry’s arse. There was no help for it. He sounded smug.

Just like there was no help for the smile that tugged on the corner of Harry’s mouth.

“Yeah, you did. And she’s wonderful. I felt like my family was complete after she came. But now…I don’t know. The timing seems right.” He glanced down the hall at the still closed kitchen door. He could hear the muffled voices behind it, just barely, but could not make out any words. He looked back at Snape and continued. “I’ve been grounded. I’m on a desk job—indefinitely. Boring, predictable hours, very little stress. Home every evening and weekend.”

Severus had been examining the ceramic container of Floo powder. The pot was misshapen and the lid fit unevenly. He held it over his head and could just make out the initials “A.S.P.” scratched out in childish script on the bottom.

“I’ll save hearing about what you did to get grounded for another time,” he drawled, replacing the pot and turning toward Harry again. “I’m sure it was something foolish and reckless. Now, what I’m hearing you say is that having a child now wouldn’t necessarily inconvenience you.”

Harry huffed. “That is not at all what I’m saying.”

Severus waved a hand. “Go on, then. What are you saying?”

Harry thought a moment before answering. Snape, unbelievably, waited patiently for his response. He rested his hips casually against the back of the couch and continued to scan the room with his eyes.

“I have enough room, enough money, enough time, enough energy and—most of all—enough love for a child,” said Harry. “It’s not just that it wouldn’t inconvenience me—I’d welcome the chance to be a father again.”

“And if either James or Bob came back in a year, or two, or five and wanted the child back?” asked Severus.

Harry shook his head. “I’m not interested in anything but a permanent arrangement. I would insist on adoption.”

“And will the child know? Will you tell him—or her—about James and Bob?”

“What are you getting at, Severus?” asked Harry, using Snape’s given name for the first time. When Snape didn’t respond, only raising both eyebrows as if affronted, Harry rushed ahead. “Yes, I’d want the child to know who his biological parents are. It’s not as if he or she won’t see them frequently, or at least from time to time. But I wouldn’t insist if they were both opposed, at least not until the child is of age.” He stopped and looked hard at Severus, adding quietly, “I know this is about Lily, Severus. Let’s keep that conversation separate, if we must have it.”

Severus leveled a very hard and steady gaze at Harry for a very long moment. He then gave a brief nod of acknowledgment and changed the subject.

“I’d like to be involved as well,” he said. “I have quite a bit of flexibility in my job. I can watch the child during the day, while you are at work.”

“You want to be the nanny?” asked Harry, flabbergasted. “You want to do nappies?”

“You may recall that I had Bob half-time when he was small.”

“I recall,” countered Harry, “that you borrowed a house elf from Hogwarts for nappy duty. It was in The Prophet, Severus. They had a field day with it.”

Severus ignored Harry’s comment altogether.

“I am not interested in being a nanny,” said Severus, managing to make the word sound like something you would scrape off the bottom of your boot. “I am interested in participating in the upbringing of my grandchild. Once the child is old enough I would serve as tutor—educator—as well, until he or she is ready for Hogwarts.”

Harry stared back. What Severus was proposing solved the entire “daycare” problem and sounded logical as well.

“You’re sure?” he asked. “You’d commit to that—until the child goes to Hogwarts?”

“And beyond,” answered Snape with a brief nod. He stood again and moved into the hallway toward the closed kitchen door. “My grandchild is bound to be incredibly gifted. I doubt you’ll be able to adequately handle his academic needs.”

“I managed with Lily,” grumbled Harry as he followed Severus down the hallway.

“I heard that,” answered Severus. “And as you suggested—we will talk about that at another time.”

Over tea and biscuits a few minutes later, Severus asked first James, then his own son, to explain his goals in life, where he wanted to be in five years and how he envisioned his relationship with his biological child should Harry agree to raise the child as his own. Their answers, and their attendant vocabulary, convinced both Harry and Severus that neither was quite ready to be a parent.

“Well, I’ll love the little bugger, of course—”

“I can teach him to fly—help polish his Quidditch skills…”

“…take him out to a Muggle restaurant to get some burgers and chips.”

“Then you’ll agree to give up all parental rights—permanently?” asked Severus of James. “Your father will adopt the child legally. There will be no talk of bringing him to live with you when he is older and a bit easier to manage and you’re settled in your career?”

James nodded. “Yes, that’s what I want. What we want.” He looked over at Bob, who held James’ eyes and nodded. “We want him…or her…to have a good home. They’ll have a wonderful home here with Dad. I did.” He smiled at his father.

“And it’s great that you want to help out too, Dad,” said Bob. “Your lessons are wicked. I loved all the time I spent at your place growing up—even the punishment room.”

“The punishment room?” cut in Harry, turning quickly to face Severus. He looked disturbed yet intrigued.

Snape was scowling at his son, who was smiling devilishly at him. “There was no punishment room,” he said, shaking his head. “This is how parents get pulled in by child welfare authorities, Robert. Cease this foolishness.”

“I have only one more requirement,” said Severus a few minutes later when everyone seemed to have run out of things to say and all of the good biscuits were gone. James and Bob looked over at him and Harry rolled his eyes. “My institute has developed a potion which is just now reaching the distribution stage. It’s a long term contraceptive—it can effectively prevent pregnancy for five years—both male and female. You must each agree to take it—Bob immediately, James after the child is born.”

“I’m not going to be bottoming, Dad. I won’t need a potion to prevent pregnancy! I’m going to do it the old-fashioned way,” protested Bob. James shot him a murderous look.

“Deal or no deal?” asked Snape, staring down his son, but only after a protracted contest. “No deal and you will raise this child. I don’t care if you have to quit the program and get a job at Fortescue’s.”

“Deal,” groused Bob. James nodded as well.

“Deal.”

James and Bob left to walk back to school after Harry arranged to make an appointment with the healer and with the current headmaster to discuss James’ condition. Snape stood and Apparated out, but only after staring Harry down and saying, “We’ll talk about this later.”

And that was that.

 

* * * * *

 

By the time the end of July arrived, Harry felt like he’d gone through the entire pregnancy himself. James was grouchy and uncomfortable. He sat for his N.E.W.T.s early and left Hogwarts in May, coming back to the house in Hogsmeade to start revising the materials he needed to have mastered before his September departure. The healer had moved the due date up to the first of August which conveniently gave James more recovery time. They’d also learned that the child was a boy, and Severus had inserted himself in the naming process, categorically insisting that he had the right to veto any name or name combination suggested by Harry but allowing that Harry ultimately could name the baby.

“Is this because you don’t want another Bob?” asked Harry in frustration when his most recent suggestion, Winston Remus, had been rejected because Severus did not like names that “ended in ‘n’” or had been previously used by werewolves.

“Perhaps,” answered Severus. He eyed Harry speculatively. “Perhaps because I did not have the pleasure of naming either of my own children.”

“Listen,” said Harry, whirling around to face Severus. Fortunately, he’d Flooed over to Snape’s place after receiving the last “rejection letter” via owl and all of the children, along with Bob, were back at the Potter house trying to keep James out of the crisps. “Let’s just have this out, shall we? We’ve been dancing around the issue for months now and I’d like to know what your terms are before this baby arrives.”

“My terms?” asked Snape. If he wasn’t confused he was doing a great job of faking it.

“Yes, your terms,” repeated Harry. He glared at Snape, but couldn’t maintain it. Snape looked so innocent standing over there behind the kitchen island, rearranging the silverware drawer, long fingers stroking each utensil before replacing it.

Snape stacked the teaspoons neatly on top of each other and closed the drawer.

“I’ve been thinking about your arse,” he said conversationally.

“My what?” asked Harry. He had heard Snape, but he wanted him to repeat it—just for clarification purposes.

“Your arse,” repeated Snape, enunciating each word and looking at the body part in question. He began dropping sugar cubes into a silver sugar bowl. Harry’s eyes locked again on his fingers. “I’ve been thinking about it. I hadn’t thought of it in years but what with getting thrown together again with these…” he gestured into the air with his hand, looking for the word, “events, I’ve been thinking about it again and wouldn’t be averse to seeing it …or more…if you’re agreeable, of course.”

“Wait. Let me get this straight,” said Harry. He dropped the baby name book, wizarding edition, onto the coffee table, did an awkward half-turn and looked down at his arse self-consciously then gave Snape his full attention. “You want to blackmail me with sex?”

“Blackmail?” Snape looked seriously affronted. “What are you on about, Potter?”

Harry stared at him in disbelief. “You aren’t proposing that I have sex with you so that you keep quiet about Lily’s true parentage?”

“Why would I want you to tell Lily? She’s already a Slytherin—surely she’ll figure it out on her own one of these days, if she hasn’t already.” He smiled smugly. “After all, she has a bit of the Snape nose.”

“She could have Grandfather Tiberius Weasley’s nose!” insisted Harry. “You wouldn’t believe how much time I spent poring over Weasley photo albums looking for an ancestor with a big nose, just in case.”

Severus stared at Harry until they both smiled. “Right. Tiberius’ nose. I’ll remember that. Now, please allow me to clarify. I was merely suggesting that in return for a chance to…ah…reacquaint myself…with that…” he paused, still staring rather avidly at Harry’s posterior “…lovely piece of flesh, I will allow you to name the baby whatever you like.”

Harry laughed. “You’ll allow me to…”

“Yes,” answered Snape, rather primly. “No approval needed.”

“Alright,” said Harry. “Deal.”

Severus wrenched his gaze away from Harry’s arse and looked up in alarm.

“Did you just agree to my terms?”

“I did,” answered Harry. “I like sex. I liked sex with you in particular. And I’ve been going through a rather dry spell lately.”

“With me,” Severus repeated, more of an affirmation than a question.

“Or maybe with blokes in general. I really don’t know—I’ve only ever had you. And just the once. How did Agatha merit five times?”

“She wasn’t chasing me around my laboratory trying to beat me with a broken test-tube,” answered Snape dryly. He took a step backward. “That was too easy. I should have held out for at least the middle name.”

Harry grinned and picked up the baby name book. “Well, I’d better get home. It could be any day now and I’m not convinced Al or Lily will be of much help. Especially Al. He’s completely traumatized by the whole concept.”

“Straight, I take it?”

“Apparently,” answered Harry with a shrug. He moved toward the Floo and reached up for the Floo powder. Severus kept his Floo powder in an ornate urn, probably from the Ming Dynasty, thought Harry.

“You’re going?”

“Of course I’m going—we’ve settled the name issue. I’m going back to one of the first eight you rejected. I’ll let you know.”

“Ahem…” Snape did a fair imitation of Dolores Umbridge. “Our agreement?”

“Agreement?” Harry’s eyes opened wider and then his mouth twitched until he couldn’t hide the smile any longer. “You mean you wanted to do it now?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” asked Snape, fiddling with a tea cozy.

“Could we maybe start with dinner and dancing?” replied Harry.

“Dinner,” said Severus. “Dinner would be fine. Tonight, then? 8 o’clock?”

“Tonight,” agreed Harry.

 

* * * * *

 

They did see each other that evening, but at St. Mungo’s instead of at dinner. After that, Harry was far too busy to think much about sex. He had a baby to take care of, and three months of family leave from his job, and an oldest son to pack up and send off to training camp, and two children to get off to Hogwarts. The month following the birth passed quickly enough and before Harry had time to think about it too long and hard, all three of his older children were gone again. It had been a hectic month, but the baby had slid into life at the Potter home with little fuss or fanfare and when all was said and done, he actually seemed to miss the noise and commotion. The parting had not been too difficult for the excited James, who had recovered quickly and had treated the baby as a small much-loved brother instead of a soon-to-be-lost son.

One evening in late September, several weeks after the house had settled down again, Harry was rocking a fussy baby in the living room when the familiar doe Patronus appeared announcing an impending visit from Severus. The baby made some interested vowel sounds as the doe pranced around the rocking chair then resumed crying when the Patronus delivered its message and disappeared.

When Snape Flooed in five minutes later, Harry was standing up waiting for him.

“Wine? How nice,” said Harry with a smile, taking the bottle Severus held out in offering. “Do you mind holding him for a while? I really need to use the loo.”

“It’s not wine, it’s oil,” said Severus with a cough, taking the baby from Harry while Harry looked curiously at the wine bottle shaped container and placed it on the sofa table.

“I can’t believe you named my grandson Godric Salazar!” Severus called out after the disappearing Harry. He waited to hear the sound of the toilet flushing. “What are you calling him? God?”

Harry grinned as he reentered the room. “Actually, I’m calling him Byron,” he said.

Severus looked up sharply. “As in Lord Byron? The 18th-century poet?”

“If you say so,” said Harry. “Godric Salazar Byron Potter.”

“Hmm,” said Severus. He had settled in the rocking chair and was studying the baby. “His eyes have changed. He has the Snape eyes. What a shame.”

“Did you expect green?” asked Harry. “Rather difficult considering James’ are brown, don’t you think?”

“A long shot, I admit,” said Severus. He made a face at Byron. “Cute little bugger though, really. Can’t you do anything with his hair?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “He’s not even eight weeks old yet, Severus.”

Severus mussed Byron’s already messy hair. “Perhaps a crew cut…”

Harry reached for a half-empty baby bottle on the table and handed it to Severus. “Why don’t you give him the rest of the bottle so I can put him down for the night? If I’m lucky he’ll sleep four or five hours.”

Severus managed to feed Byron nearly without incident, neglecting only to use the towel Harry offered when he burped the baby and ending up with white spittle down his pristine black robes. Byron was asleep before the bottle was quite gone, and Harry took him from Severus and carried him back to his cot, returning a few minutes later and plopping down on the sofa. He eyed the bottle Severus had brought.

“Oil, Severus? Planning on cooking?” He grinned at Severus. He’d seen the man numerous times since the baby’s birth, but they’d managed to go nearly two months without following up on the bargain they’d made, though Severus was becoming more and more suggestive each time they were together. Severus was becoming, Harry noted, almost a part of the family. A part of the family that happened to stare obsessively at his arse and brush against it more often than was strictly necessary.

“It’s body oil,” said Severus, in his best professor voice. “I thought you might like a massage. I’m told new parents appreciate things like that.”

“Oh.” Harry looked at the bottle again, then at Severus. Particularly at Severus’ strong, long-fingered hands. He’d developed quite an obsession with those hands these past weeks. He straightened his shoulders and stretched his neck. He could almost feel those fingers on him already. He suppressed a shudder. “Yeah. That would be great—nice, I mean.”

“Well, stand up then,” said Severus, suddenly all business. He got to his feet and looked at Harry expectantly as he casually removed his robes, leaving him in black trousers and a rather formal white button-down.

“No waistcoat tonight, Severus?” asked Harry as he rose and stood next to Snape.

“I dress for the occasion,” answered Severus as he pulled a hanky from his pocket and shook it out. It expanded to the size of a very large bed sheet—green, of course—and he draped it over the couch and gestured for Harry to lie down. Harry looked down at himself. He was wearing socks, jeans and a stretched-out Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt from an Alumni Quidditch Tournament several years ago. He glanced over at Severus, found him to be obviously waiting impatiently, then sat down on the couch and stretched out, rolling onto his stomach, arms folded and chin resting on them. He resolutely looked forward. How would Snape—Oh.

Snape’s—Severus’—weight settled on him as the man straddled his thighs, just behind his arse. For a man of his age, he showed remarkable dexterity. Hands—long-fingered, strong, dexterous—touched his shoulder blades through his t-shirt, fingers wrapping around the sinews, thumbs pressing on either side of his spine, moving outward and followed by those fingers, bending into knuckles, rolling from right to left, left to right, inching outward, back in, progressively lower on his back.

He melted.

“You’ll be more comfortable without these.” The voice in his ear surprised him but he didn’t protest as Severus removed his glasses. He dropped his forehead lower, exposing more of his neck. It had been a very long time since he’d had someone so focused on him.

The hands were working on his lower back now, fingers pressing into the tissues in a rolling, circular motion. They didn’t waste much time in slipping in below the waistband of his jeans, massaging his lower back, straying dangerously close to his arse, then moving back up again, albeit almost reluctantly.

Now Snape was pushing his t-shirt up, inching it slowly higher and working his hands underneath, massaging just as before but flesh on flesh now. When his hands reached Harry’s upper back, he slipped the entire shirt over Harry’s head, quickly worked his arms out of it and tossed it on the floor beside the sofa. Harry was too boneless to be bothered, even if he’d been inclined to be. He sighed.

“That feels great, Severus.” His voice was soft and slightly slurred, as if the massage had relaxed even his vocal chords. If he died now, he’d die a happy man. He was so languid and boneless they could just roll him into the casket and arrange his limbs in any sort of position, and Snape hadn’t yet touched anything but his back.

“Oh….” Except that. Severus’ left hand had slid in between the back of the sofa and Harry’s body, moving over his pectorals and grazing a nipple. As an entirely different sensation shot to his groin, Harry’s shoulders lifted, unintentionally giving Severus’ hand more room to play. Above him—as if in another world—Severus chuckled and with the flat of his other hand pressed down in the center of Harry’s back, urging him back down, giving him the brief, delicious feeling of being restrained. His sharp intake of breath did not go unnoticed by Severus, who hummed an inquisitive sound and pressed down with a bit more force.

“Stay put, Potter.” Severus leaned down, speaking softly near Harry’s ear. He was the professor now, fully in charge. “We’re just getting started.”

A tingle of magic up and across his back, a warming charm, but a superficial one, one that warmed the skin only. Why would…?

The shock of cold oil drizzled from his shoulder blades down to the small of his back, on his heated skin, was like being thrown fully clothed into a cold bath. He arched up again, his entire upper body pushing off the sofa cushions. Severus’ weight kept his lower body anchored, and he pressed him back down with long-fingered hands that spread the oil from center to sides, working it in with those long, nimble fingers. The upper body massage was repeated in full, this time on bare skin with scented oil. Severus worked some time around the vertebra of his lower back, slipping his thumbs beneath the waistband of Harry’s jeans and pants again to press the oil in lower. His thumbs met just below the top of the crease of his arse and slid downward an inch or so. Harry clenched reflexively, tightening his glutes and Severus slid his thumbs back out as he moved his right hand down Harry’s side, working it under Harry, finding and undoing the button of his jeans, easing the zip down with some difficulty, all the while managing to avoid Harry’s hardening cock.

“Merlin, Severus…” groaned out Harry, as the man leaned forward and worked his hands once again beneath Harry and caressed his pectorals, fingertips working into the muscles just above his nipples, thumbs circling then returning with fingers to pinch lightly. Harry groaned again, pushing his shoulders up and back then turned his head to the side as far as he could, trying to look back at Severus, aching for more. “I thought this was supposed to be a massage,” he managed.

“Did I say that?” said Severus with an amused frown. “I distinctly recall using the word ‘foreplay.’” He said the word in a low voice, then pressed his thumbs firmly on the tense knot beneath Harry’s neck and retreated downward, working himself lower and hovering over Harry’s legs, knees on either side of Harry’s, as he inched Harry’s jeans down to expose his thighs, leaving his snug briefs to cover his arse. As the cool air of the room hit his thighs, Harry ground into the sofa cushions, seeking more friction. Severus moved his hands to either side of Harry’s hips, grasping them firmly and pressing Harry downward again, rocking him in a circular motion as Harry bit his lip to keep from crying out. The hands moved then to Harry’s arse, gripping the cheeks through his pants, kneading them, spreading them, working his fingers obsessively over the cotton-covered flesh. Harry thought he heard Severus’ breath hitch and reached back to grab and squeeze those long fingers.

In answer, Severus’ hands left his arse and began to work the muscles of his thighs, warming oil between his hands first then massaging each from hip to knee then back up, sliding both hands into the vee where thighs met arse and brushing underneath, grazing Harry’s bollocks through the fabric of the pants.

“God!” moaned Harry, lifting his hips a bit to encourage further exploration there, “…just there….”

“Still sleeping,” breathed Severus, smirking.

“It’s Byron…” corrected Harry breathlessly. “You’re going to give him a complex.”

Severus lifted himself up again and pulled Harry’s jeans all the way off. They joined the t-shirt on the floor as Severus sank down on the end of the couch and began to work on Harry’s feet. Harry let out appropriate, grateful moans until Severus crawled back up over him again, knees beside hips, hands on shoulders, pulling up on the right one, instructing in that low sultry voice that went straight to Harry’s groin, “Turn over, Harry.”

“Can’t move,” answered Harry, his voice muffled in the sofa cushion. “No bones.”

Severus pulled up on one shoulder again until Harry bent his elbows, pushed himself upward and awkwardly flipped over onto his back, settling unselfconsciously back onto the sofa. He met Severus’ eyes, watching him intently.

“Now what?” he breathed, rolling his hips slightly. Severus’ eyes traveled downward, taking in the small, dark nipples, the still-muscular chest, the trail of dark hair that disappeared into the snug blue briefs, the significant bulge barely contained by the lightweight cotton. He reached out and traced a scar that ran from Harry’s navel out and up several inches, and then skirted his fingertips over the shiny burn mark that the scar intersected.

“This is new,” he said, still caressing the burn scar. “How did you get it?”

“Acid hex,” said Harry simply. “Two years ago.” He clenched his buttocks, fighting the urge to start stroking himself, and the tip of his cock peeked out of his pants. Severus’ eyes locked on it and considered it speculatively.

“If we’re going to have sex now, you’ve got a few too many clothes on,” said Harry, reaching up to unbutton Severus’ trousers.

Severus grabbed his wrists before Harry could get purchase on the button. He drew them apart then pushed them slowly down to Harry’s sides, holding them in place and tightening his grip. This time it was Harry’s breath that hitched.

Severus’ eyes glistened with a slightly feral look. “Like that, do you?” he growled, tightening his hold and twisting Harry’s wrists slightly. Harry raised his hips instinctively but didn’t verbally acknowledge Severus’ question. Severus, in turn, released his hold on Harry’s wrists, instructing, in a voice approaching dangerous, “Keep them there,” as he poured more oil onto the flat of Harry’s chest, small droplets between his nipples, then laid his hands in the oil and eased them up to Harry’s shoulders, kneading and rubbing them, moving over clavicles, pectorals, sliding out to Harry’s sides then to his stomach, fingers kneading grateful flesh as Harry groaned with each measured thrust of hands or clench of fingers. As Severus worked his shoulders once again, Harry dropped his head back, exposing and stretching his neck. Severus stilled, staring down at that sweet expanse of throat, the massage forgotten for the moment. He was no longer the not-quite-fifty-year-old that had first tasted this body more than fifteen years ago, but at this moment, he didn’t feel a day older than he had back then.

Until that moment, there had, at least, been the pretense of something else, something that was not all carnal, something that was intimate yet controlled. But when Severus’ mouth met Harry’s skin at the base of his neck, mouthed hungry, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of it toward his ear, when his teeth tugged at the lobe of that ear then moved to his jaw, when his cock, hard and needy and wanting, settled against Harry’s, Harry lost at the game to stay passive. It had been far too long since he’d been with anyone; far, far too long since he’d been with a man, with Severus. The need in his belly was so raw that he wondered how he had made love to Ginny so many times and yet no one had ever made love to him, not like this, not with this greedy intent that was somehow not greed at all. Harry’s hands came up from where Snape had ordered them to remain, sought out and cupped Severus’ wiry arse, pulled him more tightly against him even though the space between them was already nonexistent. Severus’ mouth froze on Harry’s jaw for a long moment, his breath heavy in Harry’s ear. Harry’s fingers kneaded the flesh beneath the fabric.

“Enough foreplay, Severus,” he gritted out quietly as he rolled his hips from side to side. Severus stilled above him and let out a slow groan.

Which almost, but not quite, masked the other cry that sounded at the same time from the general direction of the baby’s room.

“No,” said Severus rather roughly into the hair near Harry’s ear.

“He’ll settle himself,” breathed Harry, thrusting up against Severus’ groin and dropping his head again as Severus’ mouth moved down onto his neck, nibbling and biting lightly as it moved from ear to opposite collar bone. “Oh fuck, Severus,” he breathed at the same time that Byron, once again, let out a screech that made it absolutely clear he wasn’t about to settle himself down. Severus groaned, but a different sort of groan, and ground down one last time on Harry before rolling off and standing up. Harry struggled up beside him as the baby continued to squall, each cry louder and more desperate than the last. Harry pushed Severus back down into the corner of the sofa.

“Wait,” he instructed, trailing his fingers over Severus’ cheek as he stood. He was back five minutes later, the softly whimpering baby wrapped in a pale yellow blanket and held snugly against his chest. He settled down on the couch beside Severus, resting against him. Severus’ arm instinctively came up around him, drawing him in closer. Harry patted the baby’s back gently, holding him up under the crook of his neck, humming softly to him.

“My grandson must hate me,” muttered Severus. The pulsing, aching arousal of a few minutes before had faded to a more tolerable throb, but was still a demanding presence, and Harry’s warm body pressed up against his own was slowly edging him into a comfortable, languid—though still aroused—state. He looked down at the now sleeping baby, with its fist pressed up against its tiny mouth, and managed a small smile.

“Just needed a quick change. I’ll put him back down in a few minutes,” whispered Harry.

“Hmm,” replied Severus. He reached in to pat the baby’s padded bottom with the long-fingered hand at Harry’s waist and rested his own head on Harry’s, watching the child’s eyes flutter behind baby-thin eyelids. Aroused as he was, he liked Harry like this, in this sweetly subtle caregiver mode, his attention focused on the child in his arms but somehow including Severus in the gentle family circle.

Finally, Harry extracted himself from under Severus’ arm, stood up and padded out of the room toward the hallway, the baby tucked comfortably against his side, cradled in one arm. Severus stood after a moment or two and followed him, meeting him in the hallway as he came out of the nursery and closed the door softly behind him. Severus braced one arm out against the opposite wall, stopping Harry with it, then pushed in and around to trap him between his arms, the wall at his back.

“It’s getting late,” teased Harry, trying to duck under Severus’ arms. Severus stepped toward him, working a knee between his legs, holding him in place and rubbing lightly, deliciously, over the only piece of clothing Harry still wore.

“I’m not tired,” he said, his voice soft in the stillness of the hallway. “And I believe…” he stretched out the syllable “…that someone promised me some arse.”

“You promised me dinner,” protested Harry, dropping his head back against the wall.

“You’re getting dessert instead. You like dessert, Harry, don’t you?”

Harry shuddered and raised his arms, intent on wrapping them around Severus’ neck, but Severus caught his wrists again quickly and pushed them back against the wall, even with Harry’s shoulders, and leaned in slowly toward that perfect mouth, capturing it for the first time, coaxing it open with tongue then teeth, tasting it roughly as Harry pushed against him, feeling the hard lines of Severus’ body, offering his own in return. He struggled against Severus’ hands a moment then seemed to surrender to his imprisonment, allowing Severus to explore his mouth, nip at its corners, suck his bottom lip, grazing it lightly with his teeth as he released it.

Severus dropped quickly to his knees in front of him then, pulling Harry’s hands down beside his hips as he did so. His face was level with Harry’s navel and he leaned in to drill his tongue into it then followed the trail of dark hair with his mouth down to the low slung pants.

“What are you do—? Merlin… Severus… ohmygod ohmygod… .”

Harry shivered, arched his back, struggled as Severus pushed his wrists together, grasping them both in one hand behind Harry’s back as he tongued the skin beneath his navel, the delicate skin just above the elastic of his pants, then grasped the waistband with his teeth and pulled it down sharply, letting it go when cock and balls were free, the gorgeous cock bouncing upward, hard and leaking, sac already tightening. Severus nudged Harry back against the wall, moving the thumb of the hand that still held Harry’s wrists along the crease of Harry’s arse while his free hand crept up to Harry’s hip, rubbing softly as it went, moved along his side then higher still until the thumb brushed a nipple, testing it before thumb and forefinger squeezed it at the precise moment that a wet mouth engulfed his cock. Glorious suction, delicious heat, a tongue circling the ridge, playing with his foreskin before the mouth took him in deeper. Harry was barely breathing, panting, nearly hyperventilating, pushing outward with his hips, thrusting into the wet cavern of Severus’ mouth, Severus’ lips moving ever lower toward his balls, spongy cockhead finally hitting the back of Severus’ throat just as Harry’s wrists were released and that roving thumb, now wet with cool and slippery lube, grazed over the sensitive skin of his entrance once again before pressing suddenly inside.

Harry bit his lip to keep from screaming as he erupted in a blinding orgasm, pumping pulse after pulse down Severus’ throat, freed hands coming up to knot in Severus hair as Severus pressed in harder with his thumb as he sucked Harry nearly dry. Harry’s shaky knees gave way and he slid down the wall. Severus caught Harry’s hips with his hands, easing him downward until he rested on the floor before him, boneless and breathless. He cupped Harry’s face in both of his hands, thumbs caressing earlobes, fingers pushing into unruly hair, then leaned in to kiss him again, tongue seeking tongue, grazing over the palate before retreating into a chaste press of lips.

“So that was a blow job,” breathed Harry into his neck. “I think I could do that again just about any time.”

Severus pulled back, surprised. He had been straddling Harry’s legs, one knee on either side of the outstretched limbs, arse hovering over Harry’s knees. He was still completely clothed and terribly, achingly hard.

“You’ve never…?” He didn’t finish the question. It was inconceivable that Harry Potter, that any male over forty, for that matter, had never been treated to fellatio.

Harry shrugged as he reached out to rub the obvious bulge in the vee of Severus’ groin. “I’ve only ever been with Ginny,” he said. “And she had a terrible gag reflex. She tried it once but threw up. Real mood killer.” He continued to caress Severus’ cock through the fabric of his trousers, smiling as Severus’ breathing quickened and finally succeeded in wrapping one arm around Severus’ neck, meeting his mouth in yet another kiss, harder this time, more demanding.

“Are you planning to fuck me now?” he asked rather casually as Severus pulled away from his mouth and trailed kisses along the edge of his stubbled jaw.

“I don’t know,” responded Severus, his voice a low and guttural whisper. “Do you have a bed?”

“I have a bed,” answered Harry quietly. “I’d rather like to use it. I’m getting too old for sofas and hardwood floors.”

“And desks,” added Severus, standing and straightening with some difficulty and a disturbing pop from one knee, then pulling Harry up. He regarded Harry thoughtfully a moment then reached in and worked the blue briefs down to the floor.

“The desk was fifteen years ago, Severus,” said Harry as he casually stepped out of his pants, taking the other man’s hand and leading him down the hall toward an open door at its end. “I was younger then. I could handle desks.”

Fifteen years ago, they had fought, screamed at each other and ultimately fucked. There had been one heated, nearly vicious kiss followed by a frantic stripping off of robes and shirts and trousers and then a raw and primal coupling, Harry naked and writhing on his back on the polished wooden surface of the mahogany desk in Severus’ private office, hips pulled to the very edge, hands gripping the edge behind him. He’d wrapped his legs around Severus’ torso as he pounded into Harry, bruising him in the glorious painful stretch, hammering his prostate with nearly every upward thrust. Severus had reached down to grasp Harry’s gorgeous cock, rock hard, pulsing, alive, had squeezed its length, once, twice, three times before the orgasm was torn from Harry’s body, clenching around Severus’ hungry cock, good, so very good, wrenching his own orgasm out of him before he collapsed sweaty and spent and utterly drained on top of Harry, the erratic beating of his heart pounding into the body beneath him as they lay there panting, sinking, coming back to earth slowly from their spiraling orbit.

A productive coupling, it turned out. And one he’d never forgotten.

Tonight, though, Harry undressed Severus as he stood quietly by the bedside, dropping shirt and trousers and socks and pants onto the floor, admiring the thin and wiry body as it was exposed. He allowed Severus to position him on the bed then, still feeling nearly boneless from the massage and the intense orgasm. He found himself on his stomach, knees beneath him, spread wide, arse lifted high in the air, head pillowed on his folded arms. He didn’t think he could possibly become aroused again—he was past forty for Merlin’s sake and his cock currently felt as languid and boneless as the rest of his body. The mattress sunk as Severus positioned himself behind Harry and two hands stroked up his thighs then began to once again knead the globes of his arse. He could plainly hear Severus’ breathing quicken.

“Merlin I’ve dreamed about this,” groaned out Severus, rubbing and squeezing and kneading with more intensity, seemingly obsessed with the physical manifestation of his desire. His thumbs met and ran together down the crease, teasing his hole, and Harry jerked slightly before pushing back toward the pressure.

“It’s been a long time, Severus,” he said, half in warning, stretching to look back over his shoulder at Severus.

“You’re like a virgin all over again,” answered Severus roughly as he wandlessly summoned the massage oil from the other room and poured it almost carelessly down the crease, working it into the surrounding flesh, onto his fingers and then, with a calculated move, inserting a long index finger into that perfect hole, watching it disappear slowly as Harry arched, groaned and pushed back to suck it in up to the last knuckle.

“Fuck…Severus… .” The sensation of that long digit inside him, foreign and wrong and so very, very right, made him feel so perfect, both a vessel for Severus’ pleasure and the center of his focus and intent. He pushed back as Severus worked that same finger in and out, groaned as a second finger slid in beside the first, vaguely wondered what he must look like, splayed out as he was, naked and sweaty, arse in the air, Severus’ pale long-fingered hand working in him and out again.

“Shit….” He drew the word out and bit down on the final consonant as a third long finger opened him. He knew, now, why he’d been watching those fingers for weeks, obsessing on them.

“Such a mouth, Harry,” said Severus, voice low and hoarse as he reached around Harry’s hip with his free hand and cupped his scrotum, rolling the bollocks within gently but firmly, pulling down on the awakening cock as he pushed in harder with his fingers, drawing them out and curling them back in, brushing his prostate until Harry jerked and grunted with need.

“Feel like a goddamn teenager,” Harry ground out, alternating between pressing his cock forward into Severus’ hand and pushing his arse back against those punishing, delicious fingers.

For a wizard over sixty, Severus Snape moved fast. Before Harry could feel the loss, the fingers were pulled out and Severus’ own cock, that cock as long and lean as Severus himself, pushed in to replace them, filled him in one slow, smooth and painful slide in until he could feel the rough curls of Severus’ pubic hair and the smooth weight of a heavy sac low against his perineum. Severus stilled when he was fully seated, one hand on Harry’s cock, the other gripping his hip and sliding reflexively over his ass, squeezing intently again then edging inward, tracing the sensitive edges of his entrance stretched open around his own cock, working a finger in next to that cock, probing inward, reacting to Harry’s gasp by sliding out in a long jerk then pounding back in again, all the way in, until his balls slapped against Harry’s skin.

Gibberish from Harry’s mouth—ohmygod…fuck…Severus…there…Merlin so good so hard…right there right there…harder…touch my cock mycockmycock…hurts…so good—as Severus pounded into the perfect arse in front of him, holding Harry tightly now by the hips with both hands, knowing he was leaving bruises but incapable of easing up, angling upward as Harry ground back against him, feeling his own sac tighten as his vision darkened around the impending climax, then exploding into that velvety smooth channel that gripped his cock, grunting out a scream of pleasure, fumbling with one hand for Harry’s cock as he collapsed on top of his lover, reaching upward to squeeze a pebbly nipple hard with the other hand as Harry jerked and swore, spooning in behind Harry pumping the glorious cock as they tumbled onto their sides, still joined cock to arse as Harry came again, spurting up onto his own stomach. Severus could not help but push into Harry one more time, his own softening cock gripped again by the spasms of Harry’s orgasm.

They lay together, panting, for long moments until Severus finally withdrew and Harry turned in his arms to face him, gasping and pushing against him as Severus whispered a cleaning spell and rolled over onto his back, panting some more.

“Out of shape, old man?” asked Harry finally, playfully tweaking one of Severus’ startling pink nipples then leaning forward to close his mouth around it, unable to resist, flicking the tip of his tongue over it repeatedly until Severus groaned and pulled his head up for a post-orgasm kiss, sloppy and tired.

“Out of practice,” answered Severus into Harry’s just-kissed mouth.

“We’ll have to practice more then,” decreed Harry, placing his head on Severus’ chest, toying with the other nipple until Severus caught his wrist and brought it back down to his side.

“I’m going to need ropes to keep your hands where they belong,” said Severus, releasing Harry’s wrist and moving his own hands down to once again knead the arse that was quickly becoming the center of his world.

“Yeah, ropes,” answered Harry with a purr and a shudder.

Severus tightened his hold. His life had just taken an incredible turn. Sex with Harry Potter? Score. Harry Potter a natural bottom? Score again. Harry Potter getting off on being restrained? One hundred and fifty points for catching the snitch.

They lay there another long, quiet moment until their breathing evened out. Harry rolled to adjust the covers, pushing down the spread with his feet and pulling up the soft quilt underneath around their shoulders. Another quiet moment.

“You’re staying, then?” asked Harry when it became apparent that Severus wasn’t going anywhere.

“Do you think I can Apparate in this condition?” groused Severus.

Harry laughed. He snuggled closer to his lover and mumbled, “Your turn to get the baby, then,” before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

 

* * * * *

 

“I can’t believe this, Dad!” exclaimed James three months later. He’d come home for Christmas holiday even before Hogwarts let out. He and Bob would be staying in Severus’ mostly unused home, where beds were not in short supply, but had popped in to surprise Harry early on the morning of the 21st. They’d surprised Severus too, and currently all four of them were sitting at the kitchen table, Bob staring at his father with mouth open, apparently unable to speak.

Harry took another sip of the weak tea in front of him and nibbled on a saltine. Four and a half month-old Byron sat comfortably on Snape’s lap across the table from them, chewing on a teething ring and cooing as Snape bounced his knee.

“It happens, James. You of all people should know that,” answered Harry, reaching for another saltine from the plate in the middle of the table.

“It happens to young stupid people like us!” replied James. “It happens to witches who don’t listen during health lectures and to wizards who don’t realize they like other wizards!”

Harry smiled across the table at Byron, reached a finger out to his small son who grabbed it and moved it directly to his mouth, dropping the chilled teething ring.

“Dad! What are you going to do about this? How are you going to raise two babies at your age?”

“I’m only forty-three, James, not sixty-five. I think I can handle two babies.”

James’ and Bob’s eyes swiveled immediately to Severus who sipped his tea looking perfectly nonchalant.

“Don’t look at me,” he commented, pushing the plate of saltines closer to Harry. “I’m not the one who’s pregnant.” He sniffed the air then and looked down at the dark-haired, happy, drooling baby in his lap. He lifted the back of the tiny shirt and pulled on the back of the diaper, peering in suspiciously.

“Time for a change, Byron,” he said, standing up comfortably and adjusting the baby so the source of the smell was as far away from his nose as possible. “We’re going to have to get you trained early before little Warton arrives.”

“We are not naming the baby Warton,” protested Harry, rather weakly, as Severus moved toward the door. “I don’t care if he was an 18th-century British poet like Byron.”

“He wrote ‘Ode to Sleep’,” returned Severus from the doorway.

“How appropriate,” said Bob, smiling as he grabbed a scone from the tea tray, “seeing as you won’t be getting any for a couple more years…”

“I heard that!” called Severus.

“Warton ends with an ‘n,’” muttered Harry. He raised his voice. “You said you didn’t like names that end in ‘n’!”

“I think you need to take a dose of that new long-term contraceptive potion, Dad,” Bob said with an amused smile.

“Already have,” responded Severus, his voice echoing out from the baby’s room.

“He took two doses, just to be sure,” supplied Harry. “Couldn’t get it up for nearly a week. We were worried for a bit there.”

“Never ever say ‘couldn’t get it up’ in reference to my father again,” said Bob, looking green. He dropped the scone and reached instead for Harry’s plate of saltines. Harry yanked them away.

“Hey!” shouted Severus. “Merlin’s balls, child, you christen me every time!”

Harry managed a smile for Severus as he came back with a clean baby. Severus sat back down in the same chair and settled Byron in the crook of his arm.

“Warton, Dad?” said Bob, raising his eyebrows.

“I’ve retained naming rights again,” replied Severus rather smugly.

“And how did you manage that?” asked Bob.

Harry and Severus exchanged a quick look, Harry’s carried a warning, Severus’ was smug.

“Let’s just say I earned the right,” replied Severus, picking up Bob’s discarded scone and slathering clotted cream on it. He looked, if it was possible, like the cat that got the cream. The clotted cream, that is. Harry instinctively massaged his wrists then self-consciously stopped when he caught Bob staring at him.

“Excuse me while I go drown myself,” said Bob, standing up and making a quick exit out the front door.

“Wait! I’m coming with you!” called out James, getting up so quickly his chair fell over backward. He caught the door before it closed, and slipped out of his father’s home.

“Ba!” exclaimed the baby.

“Ba indeed,” said Severus. He quirked an eyebrow at Harry and refilled his tea. Harry smiled weakly and reached for the saltines.

 

 _Fin_


End file.
